


What Happened To You, Tommy?

by randomknowledgequeen



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Afterlife, Alone, Angst, Blood and Gore, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Character Death, Death, Fluff and Angst, Pain, Prison, Sad, coming to terms, i wrote this while sad and angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29804166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomknowledgequeen/pseuds/randomknowledgequeen
Summary: Death is only sweet for the damned.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo/Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	What Happened To You, Tommy?

‘A bitter sweet tragedy is what I’d call my life. That or a beautiful one. Because it was sad most of the time. It sucked a lot. But I lived it. So that must mean something, right? Right?’

  
To be alone in death is to be alone in life. If you die with no one you love by your side, you die a sad pitiful death with no one waiting for you on the other side. It becomes a pain to die the way you lived; it twists your heart into your throat and chokes you even after your last breath. The pain of dying is nothing to the regret that will burn your flesh from your bones and boil the sickly black blood in your veins. It’s hell. A hot swealt of hell that throws you deeper and deeper into the blazing inferno and forces you to scream until you’re throwing up the tar in your lungs and it makes you question why you lived if only to die over and over and over again until nothing is left but the broken capsule of a poor child who just wanted to live life with a smile and his friend but ended up hated and isolated and doomed to die just as he lived and no matter what it all ends eventually but it still hurts and you never stopped feeling so- 

Alone.

He never stopped feeling alone.

He just learnt how to fool everyone. He forced smiles that didn’t reach the crinkle of his eyes. He shook hands with those he knew wanted him dead. He embraced so many people till the warmth drew cold and he was pouring from an empty cup. And the worst part of it all was... he thought he had fooled himself. He stopped knowing when he was lying. Reality and fantasy mixed sourly and created an obnoxious odour so foul it ripped open his chest and burned his sinuses. Lying became as easy as swallowing air, and it was just as plain. Even in death, his tongue was covered in sores from biting it so harshly it almost felt like it had split in two. The blood had trickled down his chin and along his neck and into the dark burrow of his neck. He had forgotten what it was like to breathe fresh air that held no odour like that and ruptured his artilleries with just the smallest of intakes.

He forgot how to act human.

He forgot he was human until he was thrown into his death bed- his death place.

He didn’t deserve a bed because he wasn’t expected to die. It had been a fruitful affair of wits, screaming and eventually the barrelling of fists.

“He...He killed me.”

There was an empty echo of a laugh that had long lost its tune. It was almost in the dull sounding acoustics of his head. There was a pulsing that pounded against his temple and drove a hard migraine.

“He...He actually did it.”

He blinked several times at the white void in front of him

.

.

.

Oh. He was actually dead. Dead at the fresh age of 16... What a way to go. His legs gave out before his mind did, driving him to the ground in a blank daze. He didn’t stop himself. His hands didn’t reach out to hold onto the hope of not smashing his face into the ground. They stayed routed by his side. He felt no pain as he collided with the ground. In fact, he felt nothing at all but the empty crater he once called a chest. It was so hollow, so frozen, so spacious, he realised it felt that way because of one plain, simple, little fact.

His heart wasn’t beating.

That’s why he felt nothing. There was nothing left to feel. No blood to move around his body and no need to exhort oxygen from his lungs. His body was a hollow husk of what his living one was. Flesh as pasty as moonlight, eyes as lost as a ship at sea and lips as dry as the Sahara desert: he found himself unable to comprehend anything more than this.

Three strikes and he was out.

“No...”

“Yes, Tommy.” 

“No!” His fist collided with the ground just like his body had done. Weightless, painless and etched in the markings of a madman. “No! No! No! No-“

“Tommy- Tommy! I’m here!” Arms wrapped around his broken bones, pulling them back together with the warmest of embraces he had felt in a long, long time. “I’ve got you, Tom. I’ve got you.”

“NO! NO! NO!” His voice cracked so harshly, he almost bit his tongue from the spasm of his batted and bruised jaw. His voice was hoarse and lost in the valley of angels taken too soon. His voice was modified through the beating he had taken, the choking he had witness and the echo of a young boy just wanting to live a normal life once more. “PHIL! TUBBO! TUBBO!”

“Tommy! Tommy! Come on- What happened?”

“TUBBO! TUBBO-“ a wretched raw screech left his lips as he collapsed over himself. His lips cracked open but there was no more blood left to spill. The only thing left to ooze out of him was the last remains of his voice- his screams. 

Wilbur barely could keep him up from flopping to the floor again. It wasn’t like a fish flopping. It was like a body with nothing keeping them up. A corpse. It had no driven conscious able to keep them up. The purple hue of his skin, the bloody crater of his left temple and the right wrist snapped out of place: Wilbur was left torn between slapping the boy awake and holding him for centuries as his lungs run out and will to keep going dwindles to a burnt out campfire. Unusable and lost in the wilderness.

“TECHNO-“ Another break ripped through his voice box and he found himself choking on nothing but the stain of being heartless. “SAM!”

“...What happened to you, Tommy?” The man pulled him completely over, watching as the boy just fell into his own chest before falling into Wilbur’s trench coat. His hair was matted with crimson, face stained with remnants of spit, purple goo and the same sickly shade of blood. “Tommy... oh my Tommy...”

His own voice betrayed him with sentiment, folding under the weight of tears in his eyes and straining down his cheeks.

“S-SAM!”

‘Tommy.’

“T-Tubbo!”

‘Tommy.’

“T-Tubbo...”

‘You’re not there anymore. You can’t reach them.’ Wilbur heard the crack of bones as his grip tightened on the boy. He wouldn’t let him go. Not ever again. 

He felt like he had failed him.

He had left the child to a pack of wolves and deemed it a good idea, caring too much for his own gain and consequence, caring too much for his own life and death, and caring too much about destroying the one thing this boy held closer than the discs to his heart.

He’d taken his home and threw him into a cruel unforgiving world with a sword and a title as hero...

“No...” the cracks in the boy’s usually happy, higher pitched tone drove a stake through Wilbur’s chest that drove deeper than the blade his own father had used. 

“I’m so sorry, Toms.” He dug his face into the boy’s angry flared up collarbone. “I’m so sorry.”

“I-I’m just a kid...” 

Those were the words have pried a cry from his chest, a loud, ugly cry.

“I’m so sorry, Tommy.” He pleaded, not even forgiveness could lift the tumour Tommy had created called ‘grief’. He had already mourned his own life...

Why did he have to mourn his little brother’s?

He was just a baby still. He was meant to do great things, many great things, with his life. He was the hero- he was the wonder child who looked at fear in its ugly mangled face and screamed ‘fuck you’ to the sun. 

Why was he in the afterlife with him?

“He... He killed me, Will.” The boy saw him, ocean eyes now a storm void of what they used to be. The life was gone and so was anything that defined Tommy as, well, Tommy. “He actually killed me.”

Wilbur pushed back his split tangled hair, “Who killed you, Tommy? Tell me. It’s okay. Just tell me.”

“The... The...” a cloudy wash took over his eyes and demanded Tommy to turn his gaze towards the endless oblivion around them.

“...who?” Wilbur whispered, fingers mindlessly pushing through the thick mop of hair. He hated that look, he hated that look of complete and utter dismal. It didn’t suit the round face of his bright little brother.

“God.” Tommy said in a matter-of-factly tone, “God killed me.”

Wilbur didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand in the slightest. But the etched marks on the pale skin shone like frozen rivers cracking apart snowdrifts. And those marks told stories of great misfortune and immense pain.

“I’m sorry, Tommy. You can rest now.”

Another punch hit his gut. One knocked back his head to the obsidian floor. His was launched back so far, he saw stars, equations and the answer to life. He couldn’t keep up with the beatings. The crinkle of his shirt was the only thing consistent in the moment. His large hands pinning him in place by his signature red T-shirt, ripping the collar bit by bit. His gut caved. His eyes bled. His lips spat his own blood over his own face. He felt on cloud nine and higher. Even as his ghostly eyes travelled to the orange opaque of lava, even as he hoped and prayed for it to be slowly falling away for a man with a gas mask and creeper jacket to take path to him... He felt cold. His left eye was... He couldn’t see out of it. He was sure of it. It was open but unseeing. The obsidian crying around him saw more than he could with his dainty vision...

“S-stop-“ 

He bit his tongue as his jaw was slammed into by the bony bridge of knuckles slaughtering the skin. A sickening snap was heard and a wail rivalling a banshee’s ripped over his throat. 

He lost a tooth next.

His arms came up to stop the finishing blow he knew... he knew he couldn’t take. He-he had to buy time for Sam. Sam was on his way to save him. He had to wait- he had to make it. He wasn’t going to die- Dream wouldn’t kill him-

The punch sent his hand all the way back, fingers grazing the other side of his wrist. The broken mosaic of bone peeked through there his hand should have been. But the blood flowed down his arm in buckets and he couldn’t even scream. Frozen and forced to live on in pain until Dream finally finished the job he had started. The mad man... the manipulator... his friend...

Dream.

‘You can’t kill me. I’m a god.’

Dream... The tip of his lips met his eyes as a mad wanderlust to explore every bone in Tommy’s body and snap it drove him to throw a pulled back punch to his temple...

‘Sam... Don’t let me die. Please.’

His brain couldn’t function and that was when he had one of those ‘out-of-body’ experiences. One moment he was being shredded with agony, a blazing pit swallowing him in a minus degree wash, and fighting to stay alive for the hope of seeing one more sunset with- with Tubbo. 

As he stared down at his disfigured body, he knew it wasn’t his own anymore. It didn’t look like him. It looked like roadkill but less crushed and more humanoid. It didn’t belong to him. It belonged to Dream now. Even as his chest rose and fell like day and night, the wheeze of breath that left his throat sounded like that of a dying animals. It couldn’t have been his... It just couldn’t. 

“Tommy.” A knife was sent straight through his head as the voice slammed towards his temple. “Tommy. Don’t leave me.”

But it was too late.

He was already gone with the wind, lost in into the intrance of death and stolen away to dance with angels.

And then he was thrown into the pits of Hell to burn away for all of eternity.

“T-Tommy... Oh-Oh! You’re actually fucking dead! Haha!” The green shirted male leaned over the corpse, a wide grin on his lips that put the joker’s to shame... “Now we wait. Let’s see how long it will take before they visit us, Tommy. Let’s see how decayed you’ll be for them.”

He pulled the body to rest on his lap, stroking his hair away just like a mother to their child. 

“You’re so much better when you’re silent...” he giggled, “So much better... It’s just you and me.”

‘You, me and a one way ticket straight to Hell.’

“Wilbur... Is there- is there a way back?” Tommy just had to ask. It was all he wanted to know. It was all he craved. He couldn’t move from the arms enclosed around him. The freckle of light in his eyes made his brother almost want to lie to him.

“...no...” he whispered at the level of a mouse. “This... is it. The end of the road for us.”

“I don’t... want it to be.” And that little light, that little sea light was washed out with the storm.

“Well, I guess it’s just how this whole dead thing works. Schlatt fucked off into the light weeks ago and never came back, I stuck around and... now you’re here.” Wilbur felt uncomfortable with the brittle of bone digging into the skin of his legs but he didn’t want to move Tommy -still adamant he had to feel the pain of all his damage. 

“...I don’t want to be dead.”

“No, I know you don’t. And you shouldn’t be. Whatever happened, it is not your fault... I should have been there to save you-“ the tears were coming back again. “Shit...”

“It’s... it’s okay, Wilbur.” Tommy said, still using Wilbur as a support.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Tommy. It’s really not. I’m not going to give you any ‘but’s. I’m just going to say, ‘This sucks and we aren’t getting out of here.’ And leave it at that.” The older guy looked up at the ceiling that matched the floor. An endless void of white. He blinked back threatening tears and forced himself to interpret breathing. 

“But... it is okay, Will.” The boy tried to get up but his snapped wrist left him falling back into Wilbur’s waiting arms. “B-because you’re here with me.”

“You’re- you’re not meant to be here, Tommy!” Wilbur’s free hand cupped his swollen cheek and stroked the sunken purple under his eye. “Not until you’re grey and old and have many, many women and children!”

Tommy couldn’t even put his hand over Will’s. He just couldn’t move his body. It was like it wasn’t even there. 

“I... I’ve wanted to see you again. You were just... gone so quickly. I never got to say goodbye.” Tommy cracked and the tiniest of tears fell onto Wilbur’s thumb. “I needed to- to- I needed you, Will. And you were gone.”

Wilbur took another shuddering breath...

“Well... Now you don’t ever have to say goodbye.” He cracked the lamest of smiles and wiped away the tear with no issue, “We have all the time in the world to go over goodbyes and hello’s. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, that’s for sure.”

Tommy’s chest heaved a little laugh, “I hope not or I’d have to come crawling after you again. Please don’t blow up this place like L’Manburg, Will.”

“Rats. There goes my plans.” He snapped his fingers in a comedic fashion. The light in Tommy’s eyes were gone but there was still a freckle of light to his smile. And if he had to play the fool for the rest of their unlimited days, he’d play the best goddamn fool...

“I missed you, Wilby.” Tommy whispered, voice finally dying out.

“I missed you too, Toms.”


End file.
